


1000 Paper Things

by Venstar



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 12:40:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10921992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venstar/pseuds/Venstar
Summary: there's an old Japanese legend that if you make 1000 paper cranes, you get a wish.  for james, well, he only has 999 paper things.  not sure if it counts but q seems to think so.





	1000 Paper Things

It was an odd thing, he was sure of it. One man didn’t need fifty million paper umbrellas, but every time he, or someone else ordered him a colorful cocktail, he would pocket the umbrella that came with it. If a date had looked at him oddly afterwards, he made sure nothing was said about it by thoroughly distracting them. The dates never made it to his home, but his little paper friends would. Following dinner and drinks, he would then take his date to a hotel for a few hours, carefully ensuring that his umbrella made it through those hours unscathed and leave with it whole, taking it home.

They were strung along a simple white piece of string, the kind everyone keeps in a roll in a too full junk drawer.

It wasn’t until after he started dating the Quartermaster and their relationship turned from random dinner/drink/hotel encounters to ‘why don’t you come over to my place, that James began to wonder about his private collection.

Such a small thing meant so much to James, that he kept their encounters to meeting only at Q’s flat and learning more about the man, yet his relationship with Q meant something to him. So much so, that he took to writing a small Q on the paper umbrellas that came with every drink after work or dinner with Q. If Q noticed the increase in colorful fruity cocktails, he made no comment. If he noticed James secreting the umbrellas away, he said nothing.

James learned so much about the curiously mismatched Quartermaster, that he began to feel embarrassed about the little bits of colored paper and wood. Not embarrassed that he wanted to continue hiding them, but that he was continuing to hide them from someone who shared so much of himself, while James kept a part of himself hidden.

“Bond?” Q asked him during a strange moment of stillness at the end of dinner. “Everything alright?”

“I would prefer to go to my place this evening.” James said formally, meeting Q’s eyes.

Q’s hand stilled on his glass of wine and his eyes drifted down to his plate. “Alright,” he murmured in response. “Shall I see you tomorrow then or…”

James smiled at Q’s mistake. “If you stay over, then I’m sure I’ll see more than enough of you by morning.”

Q’s eyes rose from his plate, a twinkle in his eyes behind his spectacles. “Cheeky bastard.”

“So I’ve been told.”

A good meal paid for, a good man escorted to an even more superb vehicle and James pulled out of the parking spot and sped away to his own flat. Q remained silent for the rest of the ride.

James flicked on the lights as he moved about his space, depositing keys, removing his jacket. He turned to assist Q, but that gentleman had moved further into James’s flat, his finger tips brushing the tips of several of the paper umbrellas. James hung back and watched as those delicate hands that delivered intel capable of demolishing terrorist organizations or rude civilians bank accounts, brush over the remainder of the rows, until he came to the last section of umbrellas where they were all marked with a Q in black felt tip pen.

He thought he had known worry, waiting to kill or be killed, but he knew no worry as what he was experiencing now, watching Q turn away from his strings of umbrellas. Worry turned to curiosity as Q found a scrap piece of paper, and with those same dexterous fingers, began to fold the paper into…something, James wasn’t sure.

When Q was done, he rose and approached James, who had stayed where he was by the entrance to the living room. He held out a little paper crane and spoke in that quiet, posh voice, so very different from James’s slightly rolling accent.

“There’s an ancient Japanese legend, that promises that anyone who folds a thousand cranes will be granted a wish by the gods. Some believe that you are granted happiness and eternal good luck, rather than a godly wish. Such as long life or recovery from illness or injury.”

James stared down at the small paper crane, covered in his chicken scratch handwriting.

“I'm not sure if paper umbrellas counts, you’ve only got 999 paper umbrellas anyways.” Q said, he tapped James’s hand. “You need one more to make a wish.”

“And what should I wish for?” James asked. He leaned down to whisper to the crane. “Hmmm. Dear little paper crane, please bring me my own crane like creature with a horrid fashion sense, bony elbows and hair that blew out of a wind tunnel.”

“Arse.”

James winked at Q and added the perfectly folded bird to the end of his string, taking care to mark a Q on it. He’d mark Q, later.


End file.
